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A Real Boy Now!
Log Title: A Real Boy Now! Characters: Alley-Viper 301 and Cobra Commander Location: Washington D.C. - The White House Date: 9/21/2018 TP: America Burning TP Cobra Commander sits behind the Resolute Desk in the Oval Office. Behind him stand two almost-impossibly tall Crimson Guard Immortals, flanked by hanging Cobra flags. The Commander himself is wearing a red hood with matching red gloves, his crimson half-cape thrown over one shoulder. Hovering in midair before The Commander is a one-way holographic screen, showing reports to him but opaque to those sitting across from him. Cobra Imperial Guard stand at each entrance to the famous room. Once allowed within, to answer the summons, Alley-Viper 301 has his helmet on a hanger on the back of his belt, and his ballistic shell hanging from his backpack, leaving the heavy features of the rugby hooligan become S.A.S. and then ultimately a member of the Viper Corps. Weapons left behind, he approaches, stopping a respectful meter and a half away and salutes sharply, "Hail Cobra! May the Great Snake reign forever!" Cobra Commander looks up as 301 is allowed into the room. With a wave of his hand he dismisses a few of the reports, leaving only certain unseen missives floating to the right of him. At the formal hail, his ice-blue eyes brighten slightly. "A traditionalist, I see," he says with amusement. "At ease, Alley-Viper," the Commander orders, although he doesn't beckon 301 to sit. "I wish to speak with you about a number of things, including," the Commander glances at the hovering report, "Norfolk." Stance shifting, hands behind his back, feet apart slightly, the movement is fluid and instinctual. At the mention of Norfolk, there is the slightest tremor in him, almost a muscle reflex - resisting the urge to recoil as struck. "An unfortunate set-back, sah." he does not elaborate, he has not been bidden to after all. He waits to see where the Commander will lead his questions, expression tight. Cobra Commander studies 301 a moment, observing his reaction. "Unfortunate, yes," he says at last. "However, it followed on previous successes, and more importantly, it was a bold strike against the remaining US forces." The Commander leans forward, staring intently at 301. "I reward ambition and vision in this organization. I will not punish someone for a well-planned and well-executed strike that nevertheless does not go as intended. You've shown a lot of initiative for an Alley-Viper, 301. Much more than someone of your lowly station." Alley-Viper 301's eyebrow twitches at that, pupils tightening as he takes further notice of the Commander's choice of words. "No station too low, sah. Every war needs mudders and muckers as much as it needs games n'theory, sah." he uses his response as an opportunity to breathe out as well, slowly, now that the threat of horrific death is apparently off the table. Cobra Commander leans back once more in his chair. "Well said," he says casually. "However, I believe there is room for you in Cobra leadership. You will be promoted to serve as an inspiration to others. Choose a codename - I'm placing you in charge of the Alley-Viper Officers. Gristle is unreliable and untrustworthy. You will put your head for tactics to use broadening our stranglehold across Cobra America - exactly as you have already," Cobra Commander chuckles. "But with better pay." Both eyebrows are up now and it takes a monumental effort for 301 to keep his jaw up and his teeth together. He swallows, blinks, and after a moment, "Thank you, sah!" old training settling in, turning on the old 'stiff upper lip' of British heritage, "If you'll allow me to wax poetic, sah, I'd take the name Bhargest - since I've managed to serve as the omen of the FBI and CIA's demise, sah." he runs the words through his own head, trying to make sure, after the fact, that he didn't just mix up his own words. Looking to the Commander again, looking to see if the man approves or not. There is a pause, and then a chuckle and a nod from Cobra Commander. "Yes," he muses. "Will you paint a black dog on your shield as a sigil?" Theres another moment of thought, a slight tip of the head to one side, "Could eh, could 'ave a customization to my bucket as well, sah." gesturing to the helmet hanging on his helt with a brief shift of one arm. "Thank you very much, sah. I'll not let you down, sah." The Commander nods again, and there is a smile in his voice. "Are the BAT factories fully operational? How long until we replace the BATs lost in the last operation?" Barghest nods "Aye, Sah, they're functional, and the construction B.A.T.s have been putting in more in D.C. and we're working on adding others in our other territories. I've re-routed some of the metal shipments and have' there's a distinct work to maintain his proper London Standard, and not slip into his normal east-ender 'had the recovered units striped and recycled. We should be at full recovery within forty eight." "Good, good," the Commander allows. "Excellent, even," he says, placing his gloved fingertips lightly on the Resolute desk. "Now," he says finally, "tell me about your plans for Compound Z...." Nodding, Payton tips his head to one side, a tic from rummaging in his own thoughts, "We took on a hefty number of casualties when the Joes hacked the B.A.T. network, since there were flank gaps. I had as many as I could recovered when we exfiltrated." No, no retreat, never a word on his lips. "Grabbed as many of theirs as we could to. Figure, we don't have casualties then, we have recruits and soldiers returning to the field. Same as all them CIA and FBI spooks that the Interrogator has been squeezing for intel. Could get 'em ready for a proper spearhead, or even as first wave shock troops, soften defenses. Better yet, I figure if we cap a roof in some areas, and send them in through maintenance tunnels, we can squirrel out the rats - from CIA cells we know of, FBI enclaves, and mayhap even root out the Joes hiding in our back yard." he takes a moment to let it sink in, "If you'll forgive the appearance of my sayin' how to run the liberation, sah, I feel it tactically sound to consolidate between D.C., Chicago, and New York - put the Original 13 under our flag. Then we can consolidate and push with renewed strength, after a healthy test run of using Z-Vipers in field ops." The Commander listens carefully, considering 301 - no, Barghest's suggestion for a long time. "I see the value in the idea. Confer with Major Bludd - he may be setting up a new base in a second theatre and I wouldn't want you tripping over each other. In the meantime, work up a plan - I want to see how this idea might work. Dismissed, Barghest - you have a lot of work to do."